


things you said as we grew up

by KAZ1167



Series: things you said... [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Childhood, First Crush, First Kiss, Insecurity, M/M, fluffy fluffy fluff, pre-teen makoharu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:08:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4797206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KAZ1167/pseuds/KAZ1167
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of things said throughout Makoto and Haruka's lives, from sentences said while painting at the Tachibana's dining room table to private things that maybe weren't meant to be heard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. things you said at the kitchen table

**Author's Note:**

> Initially, I asked for prompts on tumblr and decided to keep this one short and sweet. I wrote two little fics for a set of prompts, only to realize I really liked a few of them and wanted to do more with it. So, this is now my first attempt at a chaptered fic! It will still probably feel more like snapshots than a linear story, but we'll see what happens. 
> 
> Since I originally planned for this to be a drabble, here's a super short first chapter. 
> 
> Feel free to meander over to my [tumblr](http://ishouldbeanimated.tumblr.com/). :)

When Makoto and Haruka are eight years old, Makoto kisses Haruka on the cheek.

It is a Sunday afternoon, one of those comfortably warm days that makes you feel content to move a little slower than usual, even as a kid. They are in the middle of painting at the Tachibana’s dining room table, when Makoto’s kiss interrupts the neat blue and green streaks Haruka paints onto too-thin paper, the water colors soaking through onto the worn wood beneath. There’s a splotch in the middle of his newest green line, the color bleeding out from where he held the brush in place for too long, and Haruka sees it, **_the kiss_** , imprinted onto the page, feels it on his cheek every time he glances at the splotch.

And when he glances at Makoto, the question clear on his face, Makoto smiles like the sun and says, “Sometimes, you kiss the people you love, Haru-chan.”

It only makes sense, then, for Haruka to lean over and place a quick kiss on Makoto’s cheek, a motion so quick he hardly realizes he’s made contact with Makoto at all, but –

Haruka feels something like the comfortable warmth of the day seep into his skin and flush his cheeks, even though the fans in the Tachibana household should be keeping him cool.


	2. things you said after you kissed me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Makoto and Haruka are fourteen, Haruka kisses Makoto. 
> 
> (Well, _kind of._ Haruka _kind of_ kisses Makoto. The _kind of_ is very important, Haruka thinks, hours later, bath water having chilled to something generously called lukewarm.)

When Makoto and Haruka are fourteen, Haruka kisses Makoto. 

(Well,  _kind of_. Haruka  _kind of_  kisses Makoto. The  _kind of_  is very important, Haruka thinks, hours later, bathwater having chilled to something generously called lukewarm.)

It is the same day that Makoto receives his first confession, the first of many times that Haruka is left waiting at the school gates as he wonders how his best friend will respond.  While he waits, he watches the bluebirds flit about their nest in the school’s cherry tree or counts the number of cars that drive by the school gate. Most importantly, he does not wonder if this girl is any different to Makoto than the other girls in their class, if she’s more special to Makoto than Haruka had realized, and pretends that the tightness in his chest is from anything other than having watched the girl with yellow bows in her hair blush behind Makoto. The memory of Makoto’s soft “ah, you can go ahead home without me Haru” as the tips of his ears burn pink is enough to make Haruka’s throat feel tight and his pulse quicken uncomfortably, enough to make him forget about the bluebirds in the cherry tree and lose count after the sixth or seventh car.

They would look nice together, Haruka begrudgingly admits to himself.  The girl with yellow bows had a sweet smile, despite her nervousness, and gentle brown eyes, which Makoto would probably like, maybe.  She seemed kind and nice, everything suited for Makoto, everything Makoto should like, everything very not Ha—

“Haru? You’re still here?”

 _Of course I am_ , Haruka does not say, but Makoto smiles like he knows, has somehow heard the unspoken words, which only makes Haruka feel more warm and more vulnerable than before, uncomfortable with the notion of “waiting” for any additional stretch of time in which Makoto could possibly catch the flush he can feel burning on his skin. Instead of replying, Haruka simply begins walking past the school gate with Makoto’s voice following him, a mix of laughter and exasperation in his call of “Haruuu, wait for me!”

He does not want to ask about the girl with yellow bows in her hair, does not want to ask if this girl is special to Makoto, because as much as he wants to know, he does not want to know.  He does not want to hear that Makoto likes someone, someone else, or how this girl (or any other girl) has become a part of Makoto’s world. And yet — ”What did that girl want with you?” 

“Oh, Michiko? Ah, well, she-um. She wanted to tell me that she likes me, I guess.” Makoto falters for a moment, their steps falling out of sync.

“What did you say?”  Haruka can feel his hand shaking where he’s holding onto the strap of his school bag, his throat nearly choking on the words he forces himself to ask. 

_Gentle smiles, yellow bows, hands interlaced._

“I thanked her for thinking so kindly of me, but I couldn’t accept her feelings. I felt badly, though, seeing her face fall when I said that, but I couldn’t say yes when I don’t feel the same way about her.”

Relief, light and heavy all at once, floods through Haruka. When he realizes he’s been holding his breath, he tries not to make his release of the stale air too noticeable or the way his hand loosens its hold on his bookbag’s strap too obvious.  Makoto tilts his head down, gaze on the pebbled path before them, a move that Haruka knows means he’s trying to hide a small smile (of course Makoto noticed, he always does). 

They pause to play with the little brown cat that lingers outside the flower shop, and Makoto laughs when it bats at the keychain on his school bag, green eyes shining and open in a way that Haruka wishes he could capture in the sketches he sometimes finds his hands creating, because this Makoto is open in a different way than the one that pulls him from the tub each morning, glowing in a different way than the one that hands him sparklers on summer nights, even if it is always Makoto, smiling and warm and everything to Haruka.  Kneeling by the potted plants, an umbrella of sweet smelling, purple petals overhead, Haruka leans into the space so closely shared between them, and brushes his lips across Makoto’s cheek.

It’s soft, a brush across Makoto’s cheek in every sense of the word, just like Makoto’s skin is soft under his lips.  Haruka pulls away slowly at first, slow enough to catch a glimpse of shimmering green and a vivid pink that paints tanned skin and the faint scent of citrusy soap, and suddenly it’s so much more than he expected, very much unlike the quick kisses upon cheeks on paint splattered afternoons, and he has to pull back completely, a heat pulsing through him in a way that means his cheeks will surely have betrayed him in a pink tint all their own.

“H-Haru…?”

Haruka stands suddenly, grip again tight on the strap of his book bag, eyes glued to the chimes tinkling above their heads. 

“You had something on your face.”  It’s a lie, a horrible one at that, but there are things that he cannot convince himself to say out loud (years of _thank yous_ , and maybe _more_ , nervous and unsure, but palpably there) and his actions needs justifying. 

“On…On my face?” Makoto’s voice is small and warbly, and Haruka wants to look at him to see the expression on his face (Is he upset? Happy? Confused?) but also can’t bring himself to shift his gaze from the chimes to Makoto.

“Mm.”

“Oh.” 

Makoto stands; Haruka begins walking, unable to look at his best friend’s face until he knows the pink on his own cheeks has died down.  

He hears a slight sigh, tinged with something happy and light, from behind him and the quick fall of steps meant to close the distance between them. Despite the fact that Makoto’s already taller than him and his strides are longer than Haruka’s, could easily take Makoto past the too-quiet boy who struggles with life sometimes and would let time slip past him if it were not for the outstretched hand before him, Makoto catches up to Haruka and stays beside him, their steps falling into sync once again, a small comfort in the face of an almost-change. 


End file.
